


eye on the sparrow

by charleybradburies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bisexuality, Community: femslashficlets, Conversations, Drabble, Dreams, Dreamwidth, Drinking & Talking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Episode Related, F/F, Falling In Love, Family Issues, Feelings Realization, Femslash, House Stark, House Targaryen, Late Night Conversations, Missing Scene, Not Canon Compliant, POV Daenerys, Parallels, Past Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Pre-Battle, Prompt Fill, Reconciliation, Season/Series 08, Short One Shot, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 12:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: once you see her face, her eyes you'll remember, andshe'll have you fallin' harder than a Sunday in Septemberfemslashficlets | janelle monae lyricsprompts table| #5, from "Electric Lady".Daenerys makes an unplanned, unexpected visit.[post-episode 2+ pre-episode 3post-parentage reveal + pre-battle*]*edited because for whatever reason my brain pretended that the very end of episode 2 just didn't happen - AU where everyone gets a nice night of sleeping or whatever*





	eye on the sparrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madchrine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madchrine/gifts).



> Please enjoy, kudos, and comment!!

_What about the North?_

Lady Sansa’s words echo in Daenerys’ mind as she tries to sleep, even more than Jon’s. They carry the memory of the very moment that discussion went sour, the way the heat of Lady Sansa’s hands had stayed on her own even when she’d brashly taken them away, even the memories of the times she’s angrily thought the North considered Sansa its queen. Daenerys had found what she’d wanted to be love in the man she’d believed was Ned Stark’s son, but now…

Now, what did she have? 

_It was taken from us. We took it back. What about the North?_

What did Daenerys really want?

She wants to prove herself and her dragons useful in battle on the morrow. She _doesn’t_ want to have to fight this battle. She wants to have her wounds healed by kind hands and gentle words, to wake up in a warm bed in a warmer castle, to grow old with her hair intricately braided all the way down to her thighs. 

She wants to find a home, a place with the few people left that she loves, to never have anything taken from her again that wasn’t freely given.

_We took it back._

She wants to touch Lady Sansa’s hands again.

Daenerys knows the words, knows what she’s said, that she’ll take what is hers with fire and blood, but what about that which is not hers? What of people’s loving families, people’s hand-built homes, people’s hearts?

Wasn’t it their hearts that she'd always wanted the most? 

Her own heart aches. She doesn’t know how to soothe it; she’s barely listened to it except to pursue that which it wanted. 

Tonight, with everything on the line, she listens to it. She follows it all the way to the chambers occupied by Lady Sansa, and she knocks on the door. No response comes until she speaks, though her voice comes out terribly... _small_. The door is opened just as slowly, by the lady in her shift and cloak, hair undone for the night and her expression bearing clear confusion.

“I’d like to have another try at our earlier conversation,” Daenerys says, clasping her hands together in front of herself, noting uncomfortably that it’s in nervousness and not in power. 

“If it please you, my lady,” she adds, an afterthought, and Lady Sansa gives her a bit of a smile again. Her heart jumps in her chest.

 _Oh, dear._ If she’d doubted before this that her affections had shifted, she surely knows now.

“Come in, your Grace. I’m trying to do as much mending as I can. More company would be appreciated.”

Daenerys seats herself in a leather chair by the fire, and notices Ghost - Jon’s wolf, allegedly, though he had guarded only the Stark sisters since Jon’s return - laying on a pelt in a corner of the room.

“He’s a competent guard, but an awful conversationalist,” Lady Sansa says, pouring two cups of what Daenerys finds is wine, and Daenerys genuinely laughs. 

It sparks _something_ , though she can’t tell what it is. It loosens Sansa’s shoulders as she sets the wine down in between the chair Daenerys has taken and a chair that has some nondescript garment laid on it, needle sticking out. Sansa sets the project in her lap when she takes a seat, and when she looks back up, her eyes are gentle - wary, but not angry. 

Tonight, Daenerys lets herself be soft. She doesn’t tell the victories that gave her braids, but reminisces on bonding with her friends - with Missandei, with Jorah. Sansa tells her stories in return, and sings her a few popular Westerosi songs - songs she’s never heard, ones Viserys did not value. Rhaegar was the brother who liked songs; Daenerys wonders if the other Starks like songs as well, if true families do things like sing together. She watches Sansa mend what seems like countless garments in varying states - watches her lovely hands and their deft movements. 

And when they’ve finished the wine and she finally does fall asleep, she dreams of Sansa singing to her as they walk along the coast on Dragonstone.


End file.
